Be Afraid (Morgans of Nashville 2)

She’d hung up and put the phone on silence. She’d finished the bride’s portrait, not wholly satisfied by the eyes, which conveyed a bit too much confidence to reflect the woman.

Whatever life she’d cobbled together in the last twenty-five years was unraveling because she’d pulled the first thread when she’d moved back to Nashville.

This morning, she’d turned her phone back on expecting a call from her bride. It had started ringing an hour ago. By her count, she’d had seven calls.

Jenna glanced at the phone and when she saw Unknown Caller she rose and moved outside to her deck. She breathed in a lungful of fresh air. Though business could end up booming as a result of the television news piece, she would never allow a profit to be made off a child’s death.

The phone stopped ringing and she released a deep breath. “Leave me alone. I don’t need this.”

Her front bell rang and she cursed, deciding she would not answer. When the bell rang again she got annoyed. “Jenna, it’s Detective Morgan.”

She hesitated. She couldn’t blame him for this mess. She’d made the choice to go public. She moved to the door and opened it. He stood there dressed in a dark suit, a white shirt, and a red tie. No sign of his dog. “Detective. You’re rather dapper. Headed to court this morning?”

He straightened. “How’d you know?”

“Every cop has their going-to-court suit. Since that’s the nicest I’ve seen you dressed, I’m guessing court.”

“You would be right.” He frowned. “Are you saying my other suits aren’t as nice?”

She cocked her head, pleased that her teasing had gotten under his skin. “I wouldn’t wear my best to a murder scene. Most scenes aren’t clean and pretty.”

“No, they aren’t. But maybe I could step up my game a little.”

“Why?”

“I have an image.”

That made her laugh. “Really?”

“It’s the Morgan family legend.”

“Ah, that’s right. The homicide legacy or something like that.”

“Exactly.”

The phone vibrated, humming against a tabletop, and she cringed. “Another admirer.”

The good humor softening his gaze vanished. Cold steel replaced it. “Anyone giving you a hard time?”

Ignoring the phone, she nodded for him to come inside. “Nothing I can’t handle. A news report like that always brings the nuts out of the trees.” The phone went silent. “So what brings you to my neck of the woods?”

“Just checking on you. I didn’t like the way that newscast went down. And I’m surprised you didn’t say something to me before the interview.”

“Like what? Not the kind of thing that comes up easily in a conversation, is it? Besides, my aunt taught me early on to keep that note from my past secret. She said no good would come of talking about it.”

“Didn’t you need professional help when you were a kid?”

“It probably wouldn’t have hurt but my aunt wasn’t the most trusting soul when it came to shrinks. She decided the best therapy was a pad and pencil and told me to draw my troubles. When I did, we’d burn them in the backyard and she’d tell me they were gone. We did that a lot in the beginning but, after a while, the nightmares faded.”

“You kept drawing.”

“Maybe finding other people’s demons was my way of working through it.”

“Your missing persons file came across my desk when we were trying to identify the Lost Girl. Bishop didn’t realize it was you until after the interview.”

“So you see, my case is closed.” Her flippant tone didn’t quite measure up to her feelings. “I have no boogeyman to worry about.”

He studied her a long beat. “But there’s something that bothers you about this.”

She folded her arms over her chest, forgetting for a moment that he was a homicide cop and good at digging to the truth below. “What makes you say that?”

He shook his head. “There is something . . . those eyes you draw.”

She wagged her finger at him. “I’m not one of your suspects and there is no deeper truth to be found. My story was terrible but, in the end, justice was served.”

“You believe that?”

“Sure.” No. Not really. The perpetrator might be dead but her family was dead and she was left with an irrational fear of small spaces, insomnia, and a host of other quirks.

He rested his hand on his hip and, for a moment, didn’t say much. “I was a grown man when I was shot. I was a cop doing his job who understood the risks. You’d think I could handle trauma but I still have nightmares.”

She resisted sharing her laundry list of quirks. “No one gets out of life unscarred.”

“Aren’t we the pair?” His voice had dropped to almost a whisper and she knew the admission cost him a measure of pride.

She didn’t want to like or care about Rick. Soon she’d leave Nashville. “Yeah.”

Silence settled between them. “Jenna, if you need anything, call me. You helped me out and I want you to know I’m here.”

Her tangled past was her problem. She’d never dumped her burdens on anyone else before and she’d not start now. “Thanks. And thanks for stopping by but I’m fine and can handle a few kooks.”

A slight cock of his head telegraphed disbelief. “You sure?”

She coupled a grin with an exaggerated shrug. “Please. I’ll be fine.”

He slid his hand into his pocket and rattled change. “Okay. But promise you’ll call if you have trouble.”

“Sure. I’ll call.”

But she wouldn’t. She never called for help.

Ford left work early because he’d been so angry. His boss had threatened to fire him but Ford had cut the conversation short when he’d quit. He’d had it with the bullshit and couldn’t take the talk, talk, talk knowing that she’d humiliated him at the package-delivery office.

His phone rang as he moved toward his car, a beat-up Ford wagon that rattled when he drove. “Yeah.”

&nbs

p; “You sound upset.”

The familiar voice calmed him instantly. “I am. Everything is a mess.”

Silence. “Tell me.”

Ford hated screwing things up. He’d messed everything up in his life and now here he was again with another screwup. “I went to see her.”

Silence. “Not the waitress.”

“No.”

“You went to see her.”

“I couldn’t help myself. I just want to do this so bad.”

More silence. “What happened?”

He recounted what happened. “It was a mess. I can’t do this without you.”

Through the line he heard the faint jingle of bells. “This isn’t good.”

“I know. I’m sorry I screwed up. What do I do?”

A door closed. “Do you remember the place we discussed?”

“Yes.”

“Meet me there in fifteen minutes.”

“Why?”

“We’re going to do it tonight.”

Relief and excitement rushed over him. He thought he’d totally screwed up his chances. “Why?”

“Because I want it as well. Don’t be late.” The line went dead.

Ford got in his truck and drove through Nashville, crossing the Cumberland River until he reached a small, deserted gas station. He got out of his truck in time to see the nondescript, green four-door pull up.

Ford waited in his truck as instructed until his mentor slid into the passenger seat.

In the dim light, he felt the sharp eyes staring as if trying to read his mind.

“I feel like a fool,” Ford said.

“No reason to feel like a fool, Ford. In the long run, this might be a good thing.”

Ford gently pounded his fist on the steering wheel as if the action would tamp out the memory. “She made fun of me in public.”

Even, white teeth flashed. “Don’t worry about that. It’s easy for her to be brave when there’re people around. She wouldn’t be so brave if it were just the two of you.”

Simple words soothed his wounded soul. “Thank you.”